erin & jay: walking a thin line
by penwielder62
Summary: sometimes, chicago takes more than erin and jay will ever get back and protecting your partner means putting them back together in the aftermath. (third in the original posting order of my cpd metas.)


third in the original posting order of the cpd meta sets.

(credit to the creators of _chicago p.d._ where it is due.)

* * *

jay being the one erin calls because the power is out in her building and it's freezing, except his heat is out and they end up on voight's doorstep together. (they spend the night in her old room and erin tells jay about her first night in hank's house, crying because she missed her mom but also from relief. _this is where i felt safe for the first time._ )

jay having this incessant need to watch the news. erin thinking it's weird– _we spend all day in the type of stuff that makes news, why bother_?–until they're watching a report on different parts of the middle east, what the military is doing over there, and jay doesn't look at her but, _i spent ten months there_. (it's not a lot, but she won't press for more.)

stuck in an _elevator_. for hours, waiting to be found. starting out laughing and playing childish games before the conversation drifts, turns serious. apartments and two rents, new districts, promotions, trying to find a way to _someday_ with quiet words while fingertips trace palms.

(they both want so much and are so scared to reach for it, desperate not to upset the delicate balance of _now_.)

/

jay getting picked for a deep undercover when intelligence and vice agree on a joint case with a federal task force and erin having to bite her tongue when none of _their_ people will be backing him up. hank stopping her from fighting the decision with a look that does nothing for her agitation. things go wrong when he goes in without her.

erin sticking close by jay's side in the few days left before he goes dark. watching as he gets his hair shaved close up the sides. staying silent as he withdraws in preparation, taking on a palpable edge to every motion. (she wonders if this is what he was like in the army.)

jay glancing at erin across the office and then tilting his head towards the locker room. there are only minutes. her leading the way and him following. no one commenting on their departure. jay pulling her against him to slant a kiss across her mouth. hard, desperate, burning. erin getting lost in the feel of him, not knowing how long it will be until she sees him again. (if there is moisture in her eyes as he pulls away, jay doesn't comment.)

jay laying awake for hours on a lumpy mattress in a craphole apartment, staring at his burner cell, just wanting to hear her voice for a few moments. listen to her laugh, to ask how she's doing. cloying perfumes from club-hopping with his "boss" cling to his clothes and all he wants is to go home to erin.

erin spending more nights at work than at home, getting up at five to go to her apartment for clothes and a shower, then stopping at jay's, the keys he'd left with her gripped in her hand, to make sure it's still intact. (if she stays longer than intended, curled up on his bed, face pressed into his pillow, no one knows better.)

erin losing it late one night, after he's been gone three weeks and she hasn't seen him once, only knows how he is from shared reports. the glass of scotch shatters against the wall and the ceramic lamp cracks into a dozen pieces. erin ransacking her own apartment in a storm of pent up emotion, only stopping when her arms give out, her lungs heaving for breath. _you've gotta come home_.

jay sinking into a distant, razor focus he hasn't experienced since his last tour overseas after the first month. the shift throwing his world into a black-and-white, kill-or-be-killed mentality. his crime boss appreciating the edge, using it, and jay getting too used to cleaning blood off his hands.

voight calling her two nights later, voice harsh and demanding to know if she's okay. she hasn't been to her apartment since she destroyed it and he's there now, witnessing the chaos, and erin having to admit to him that she's at jay's apartment. (what hank won't know is that the only way she sleeps now is on jay's couch, buried under the blankets from his bed.)

jay not noticing when he stops losing sleep over the desire to talk to his partner. getting lost in the case, forgetting the greater reality outside of this visceral nightmare.

erin feeling relief so strong it makes her hands tremble when the arrest is made and the case closed, a month later and jay is finally coming _home_. hank leaning over her desk to grip her shoulder and say _halstead's coming here for a debrief then you get him out of here, okay_?

erin knowing the toll of living on the edge and having to come back from it, but nothing preparing her for when her partner walks back into intelligence behind the fed and vice's sergeant, his hands deep in his pockets and a visible loss of weight to his frame. he's never looked so drained.

jay being numb when he stands at the top of the stairs with bruised knuckles and lipstick still on his collar. the team reacting to his presence but jay not being able to respond beyond a short nod as he trails their bosses into voight's office.

erin pausing, waiting for him to acknowledge him and feeling a paper crumple under her hand when he doesn't. ( _don't do this to me, jay_.)

mouse gesturing erin into the break room, gaze skittering around the emptying desks while she complies. confusion knitting erin's brow as he leads them into the far corner and is about to ask when mouse blurts _just be careful. with jay. i–haven't seen him like this since we got back from, you know_ – erin taking a breath. _thanks, mouse_.

jay having to go in search of erin when he can't find his apartment keys. trailing downstairs where platt points him outside with less disdain than usual. her leaning against the 300, waiting, but both being at a loss for words.

the drive to his place spent in silence and erin hesitating when they arrive. jay being torn–wanting her to stay but still imagining he can taste another woman on his tongue.

erin coming up anyways with a quiet _i left some stuff i need_ and jay relenting with a nod. her getting a call in the elevator and him leaning against the wall, eyes closed, and feeling a whisper of himself come back with the sound of his partner's rough voice.

jay pausing when he enters his apartment after erin, seeing the evidence of her presence even as she's already trying to clear it away. the comforter falling off the couch. a pile of laundry spilling out from his room. her brand of beer bottles in the recycling bin. (it feels like _home_.)

erin not having considered cleaning up before going into work, and seeing four weeks of her habitation with new eyes. bracing on some level for his reaction only to glance back, arms full of bedding, to see jay unmoved from the entryway, an odd light in his eyes as he looks at her domestic disaster.

 _don't leave, erin. stay. please._

erin standing with him under the hot spray of the shower, her front to his back, forehead pressed between his shoulder-blades. _i missed you_.

jay turning his apologies and promises into kisses pressed to her skin, lingering touches bearing his guilt, and her forgiveness coming in every whisper of his name.

/

jay starting awake because the crack of thunder sounds like a mortar round, searching the dark room with his 9mm for an enemy, lungs too tight to breathe. the nightmare getting interrupted by his phone ringing.

erin laying awake when the storm begins to pound against her window, lost in thought, when thunder booms and her pulse jumps. cursing when realization strikes (a slammed door screws him over, there's no telling the damage of this) and dialing his number. _pick up, jay. come on_.

 _erin_? his voice is hoarse, ragged. _yeah, it's me. i'm coming right now but i want you to stay on the line_. her feet are in her boots and the keys are in hand. _i'm fine. don't drive in this weather_. always protecting her, never himself. _i'm coming, jay. don't try and fight me on this_. a silence, a breath. _okay_.

there are things erin doesn't know if she'll ever be able to voice. (let me in. _let me in_. i'm your partner, i'm _yours_. it's my job and everything i want to be the one to protect you like you do me.)

but she tries. she tries, with her fingers curled into his hair, holding him tight as he crumbles in her arms, flinching with every flash of lightning, tears in her eyes as she tries to keep them both from falling apart.

* * *

followed by "jay halstead and surviving" in the original posting order from tumblr.

thank you for perusing this scrawl! comments, critiques, and concerns are always welcome.


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